


Wrong Place, Right Place, Same Time

by iselsis



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood: Lost Days, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Brotherly Bonding, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, Good Bro Jason Todd, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29603034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis
Summary: Tim is at a party and doesn't notice when something is put in his drink.Jason is in an office by the upstairs bedrooms, sifting through a drug developer's paperwork.Until Jason hears the man come upstairs with a clearly unwilling, underage partner. And Jason doesn't like rapists.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 42
Kudos: 618





	Wrong Place, Right Place, Same Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pink_and_Purple_Daisies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Purple_Daisies/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Daisy!
> 
> This would have been up on time, It Got Long™ (in fact, so long that it is now two chapters) and you actually have the same birthday as my little brother! The birthday ended up being a two-day affair due to be some snowed-in relatives coming later.

The party was…happening. Tim wasn’t really paying attention to anything except for balancing the unhealthy amount of chips and queso on his flimsy paper plate, but his bat training and growing up in Gotham compelled him to keep at least half an eye on the crowd in case there was a Rogue attack or a bombing, or something equally dramatic.

Tad Lauder’s parties were just the kind of venues that Rogues and terrorists liked, so it wasn’t even that bizarre of a paranoia to have: it was a large crowd in a contained space, all children of influential members of Gotham society, most of them were so absolutely plastered that the whole lot of them could be kidnapped just by telling them that the afterparty was in that windowless white van.

Actually, not a bad idea. Tim filed it under the _to do if I ever become a villain_.

Unfortunately for Tim…or actually, probably fortunately, he was very _not_ drunk. Other than having been infected with Bruce’s compulsive preparedness, he was also going back to the manor tonight since Bruce had made it a requirement when Dad and Dana were out of town if Tim wanted to stay Robin—which was totally unfair—and the time Alfred caught Dick coming home after _one_ beer when he was seventeen was _legendary_. And terrifying. Mostly terrifying.

As a consequence of being the only not-drunk person in the building, there was absolutely nothing to do and no one to talk to.

Tim had one more chip, but only enough queso for a little under half a chip. He ate it anyway, but the ratio was _all_ off, and he had to wash it down with a swig of the ginger ale he’d snagged before everything had been spiked.

“Enjoying the party?”

Tim choked and snorted ginger ale half up his nose, a sensation uncomfortably similar to getting thrown in Gotham’s harbor, and he almost sloshed the contents of his cup onto his lap with the force of his coughing.

Tim managed something vaguely affirmative, setting the cup on the table for safety and turning away to hide his face in his napkin, half to cough and half to hide his embarrassed flush because _oh god that’s Edward Lauder, my dad’s going to kill me for embarrassing him._

It _was_ Mr. Lauder’s house, of course, but Tim had always just expected that Tad only threw these things when his parents were out of town. Though, Tim should have factored in that most kids weren’t considered mature enough to be left alone for a couple months at a time without dying, so Mr. Lauder being _aware_ of the rampant underage drinking parties at his house was a bit morally suspect, but also made a lot more sense.

“Hi,” Tim wheezed.

Mr. Lauder had sat down in the folding chair next to Tim sometime during that humiliating coughing fit. He laughed, but more _with_ Tim—not that Tim was laughing—than at him.

Tim’s shoulders slumped with relief. Maybe Mr. Lauder didn’t think it was a big enough deal to reflect badly on Tim’s dad after all.

“Hi, Mr. Lauder,” Tim said as politely as he could, taking a swig of his drink to try to wash out the burning sensation in the back of his throat from having gotten soda up his nose. It didn’t help much, but it meant that he had an excuse to stop talking for a moment.

“You’re Timothy Drake, aren’t you?” Mr. Lauder asked. “Please, call me Ed.”

Tim nodded. His name. That, at least, was a subject he knew. “I’m Tim.”

Mr. Lauder smiled, his muddy blue eyes glinting in amusement. “You didn’t answer the question, _Tim_. Are you enjoying the party?”

Tim glanced around the room for a second—still not on fire, but what _were_ they doing with that microwave—before nodding absently. “Yeah. It’s fun.”

He didn’t really have much else to say. He probably could stand to ask Bruce for schmoozing lessons, because somedays he wanted nothing more than to be able to turn off his social dread and just put on a mask like Bruce did at these sorts of things, but even though he _knew_ Bruce was good at talking to people, the idea of asking _Bruce_ for communication tips was almost enough to make him snort his soda again.

Mr. Lauder nodded, then stood up, clapping Tim on the shoulder with that awkward squeeze adults liked to give teenagers. Tim just gave his own nod, still unsure after so many years just what the teenager was meant to do while their shoulder was being squeezed.

“Well, I’d better go—” Mr. Lauder’s eyes snapped up, and he ran off.

Mr. Lauder’s swift departure was followed by a sudden burst of drunken complaining and a half-squeaked _you can’t put priceless antiques in the microwave—I don’t_ care _that it’s for science. Didn’t you want to be an English major anyway?_ From Mr. Lauder.

Tim rolled his eyes, but his curiosity was piqued. He had a microwave. His dad probably wouldn’t miss _all_ of his collection. If Tim just picked out the right artifact…

Tim spent the next half hour or so sipping at his soda and drafting an experiment, but he couldn’t decide if he wanted to try doing microwaveable mac and cheese done in a Kangxi vase or if he wanted to try making hot chocolate in an authentic Roman helmet.

It was getting harder to think, though. Tim kept catching himself yawning as he weighed the pros and cons, and he finally leaned his face against the table and mentally shelved the project. It wasn’t _fair_ that he was so tired. He’d gotten, like, six hours of sleep last night, which was almost ten hours in vigilante time.

He half-roused when he felt a hand rub his back.

“Hey, Timmy,” a familiar voice said. Mr…Lauder. Mr. Lauder. “Looks like you’re all wiped out.”

Tim groaned something totally incoherent, which in context was all the affirmation anyone would need.

“You can’t drive like this.” Mr. Lauder’s voice was concerned. He rubbed a wide circle on Tim’s back. “How about a nap? We have guestrooms upstairs.”

Something…Tim frowned. Something about this felt wrong, but he really couldn’t drive like that, and everyone was too busy—well, they weren’t actually doing anything, but Tim didn’t want to bother them with something so insignificant as giving him a ride, so he nodded.

Mr. Lauder chuckled as he helped Tim to his feet, and it sounded just slightly…off, but Tim _felt_ really off, so it wasn’t like he was an objective judge of anything at that moment.

It was only as Tim’s limbs and head got heavier and heavier and the blaring noise of the party distant to the point of being quiet that Tim realized that something _was_ wrong, and exactly what it was.

No, no, no, no, _no!_ This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be—

“Hel—” Tim tried to yell, but he could barely force out a whisper, and everyone was so far away. He’d been so _stupid_ , letting his drink out of his sight for just a split second and not questioning that stupid sudden drowsiness. He needed help, he needed _Bruce—_

Bruce would never forgive him for being so stupid. He’d take Robin away, he’d take Alfred and Dick away, and he’d leave Tim all alone in his stupid empty house all the time again. He’d take back every exasperated thought he’d ever had about Bruce and Alfred breathing down his neck about sleeping and homework if Bruce would just forgive him for this.

He tried to yank out of Mr. Lauder’s hands, but Mr. Lauder just chuckled, cruel and dark, and tightened his grip.

“Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” Mr. Lauder teased. “Don’t be like that. You’re going to enjoy this just as much as I do.”

Any doubt in Tim’s mind shattered, and he opened his mouth to scream. The sound that came out was a breath.

Mr. Lauder pulled Tim closer, his hands searing warmth through Tim’s shirt. Every pretense was abandoned, and with no witnesses, he pushed Tim up against a door and ground his hips against Tim’s stomach. Tim whimpered and tried his best to pull away—he was _Robin_ , _goddammit_ , _please—_ but there was nothing he could do but collapse against his captor.

“See? You can’t get enough already.” Mr. Lauder pressed a sloppy kiss against Tim’s neck, and Tim could _feel_ the grin spread against his skin. “Now, let’s really get started.”

Mr. Lauder reached around Tim with one hand and opened the door. Tim blinked hard, and then he was in the room, being pushed onto the bed.

Why did the bad guys never leave their plans just _lying around?_ It would have been so convenient, but _instead_ , Jason had to rifle through the desk drawers the files and papers all over the top of the desk. He’d thought he’d made a breakthrough when he’d jimmied the lock on the filing cabinet, but all that was in there were tax papers, so Jason closed it with an annoyed huff.

Annoyingly, he couldn’t even just ransack the place, either, or he’d tip off Lauder.

Edward Lauder was sitting on top of one of the most dangerous drug operations in the city. Lauder was a pharmacochemical engineer, and had somehow managed to engineer meth that was ten times as addictive as the normal variety, and _worse_ he had been selling to kids. Jason was probably going to shoot him after this, but not before he figured out where all that tampered meth had been stored.

Actually, he was _definitely_ going to shoot Lauder. Beyond selling drugs to kids, Lauder had been accused of formulating his own untraceable date rape drug. Of course, no one had been able to prove anything yet—untraceable—but there were too many women claiming the same thing against the same creep for Jason to not believe them.

Adding to his crimes was the fact that Jason had to put all his revenge plans on hold until he had this mess sorted. He smiled to himself at the thought of having the new little Robin squirming in his fingertips, but that would have to wait.

The one thing going for Jason was that there was a party going on downstairs, the loud, raucous kind. It was two floors down and on the other side of the house, so Jason couldn’t count on it to cover any noise he made, but he could hope that it would keep Lauder occupied long enough for Jason to get what he needed and get out.

The breakthrough came when he found the secret panel on the underside of the desk. It was locked, but it wasn’t secure, and it took Jason moments to get it open and take the folder from inside.

Jason grinned and thumbed through the folder before spreading the contents over the surface of the desk. It was everything he needed. Names, numbers, addresses, and formulas. He just needed to photograph all the papers, and then—

“Oh, _sweetheart_.”

Jason froze.

Lauder was out there, just down the hall, and he wasn’t alone. Jason put all swore under his breath and pulled out his phone, quickly snapping a picture of the desk top. It would be a pain, but he could zoom in on the individual documents later, and he couldn’t afford to be found. As soon as he had the photo, he scrambled to put the papers back in the order they’d been in before Lauder or his date could hear him.

“Don’t be like that,” Lauder cooed at whatever poor soul had been stupid enough to get caught up with him, but he didn’t seem to be getting any closer. “You’re going to enjoy this just as much as I do.”

The words, and the lecherous way the man spewed them, made Jason stiffen. It couldn’t be…

There was a small whimper, a _young_ whimper, and the rattling thud of someone being thrown against the door right beside the office.

“See? You can’t get enough already.”

It was supposed to be a high school party, filled with teens, and probably no shortage of alcohol. Vulnerable, _stupid_ children, and Lauder was going to rape one of them _right now_ , because that was what rich men _did._

“Now, let’s really get started.”

The door to the next room opened with the barest of creaks, snapping Jason from his shock.

If he stopped Lauder, he might tip Lauder’s friends off to the fact that he was onto them, which could lead to hundreds of people dying or ruining their lives and the lives of everyone around them with their addictions, but if he _didn’t_ stop Lauder, then an innocent little kid was going to be raped.

_Dammit._

Jason bent the folder and stuck it in his back pocket, then drew his gun from the holster and flicked off the safety. To hell with secrecy. He’d take them all out tonight, every one, and they’d never even see him coming.

Jason stormed across the office and opened the door quietly despite how he _burned_ to throw it open and let Lauder know that reckoning and Red Hood were coming. He couldn’t have Lauder take the kid hostage.

The bed creaked, and Jason’s throat tightened, the creaking of a dozen other beds echoing in his ears. No one else. Never again.

Jason threw open the door and stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Lauder was on the bed, kneeling over a small body between his legs and rubbing his hands up under the very young teenager’s shirt.

Lauder looked up and scowled at Jason, clearly not understanding who he was looking at.

“Fuck off, we’re busy,” the man snapped.

The teen stirred slightly, a high, broken noise like a sob shaking his body, but he was clearly about to pass out. He was _tiny_ , a fact made even more blatant by the way he was pressed into the blankets under the bulk of the adult on top of him.

“Get off him,” Jason growled.

Lauder’s scowl deepened, and while he _did_ get off the bed, he did so with curled fists and an offensive posture. The kid whimpered from the bed, and Jason’s finger twitched on the trigger.

“I told you to _fuck off_ ,” Lauder warned in a tone that was probably meant to sound intimidating.

Jason laughed.

Then he raised his gun.

Jason gave Lauder just enough time to process what was happening before he pulled the trigger.

If you couldn’t play nicely, you got your toys taken away.

The shot hit Lauder square in the groin, castrating him instantly. Lauder fell face first onto the floor with a scream of anguish that felt so good. It was finally someone else’s turn.

Jason walked slowly, _loudly_ to the crumpled rapist on the floor, making sure that the man could hear every thud of Jason’s boots even over his pained cries. Lauder rolled onto his side, pulling one bloody hand from trying to staunch the bleeding—or just give himself a hand job, the perv—to hold it out at Jason.

Jason raised the gun, pointing it straight at Lauder’s head.

And kicked him in the balls.

Lauder _screamed_ , but no one was going to hear him. The precautions he’d taken to make sure that no one would hear the cries of the fucking _kid_ he planned on raping were going to be the slow, _slow_ death of him.

Jason flicked the safety on his gun and holstered it. Oh, he was going to kill Lauder, but he was going to let it hurt a bit longer.

“Hey, kiddo,” Jason said as soothingly as possible as he approached the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you have some parents I could—"

Terrified, glazed blue eyes blinked up at him from a very familiar face.

That was _Robin._

Drake’s eyes widened. Clearly, he recognized Red Hood too.

Green rage purred in Jason’s mind. Maybe his revenge _wouldn’t_ have to wait after all. The new Robin’s wings had already been clipped for him. He had been planning on attacking Drake on his own turf, proving that not even the Titans Tower was safe for Batman’s birds, but this was even better. Drake was even more helpless against whatever Jason could dream to do.

Jason loomed over Drake, placing one hand beside Drake’s head as he gently brushed the hair out of Drake’s face with the other. Drake’s fingers drifted uselessly over the blankets as he tried to squirm away.

“Robin.” Jason smiled. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Drake froze.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

With the background music of Lauder’s dying gasps, Jason climbed up into the bed and sat down beside the replacement, carding his fingers through Drake’s hair, just like Bruce had done to Jason when he was still pretending he cared. Tim gave a muted flinch, but with as drugged up as he was, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a situation, _Robin._ You couldn’t even tell your drink was roofied? What would Batman think?”

Drake clenched his eyes shut tight and gave another attempt at pulling away, but Jason twisted his fingers in the roots of Drake’s hair.

“You won’t even look me in the eye? Are you that _scared_? The other Robins were never that _pathetic._ ” Jason tugged hard on Drakes, hair, drawing a yelp and a whimper.

Jason had dragged a body of broken bones across a warehouse. He’d nearly gotten out. And everyone knew that _Dick_ had always been even better than Jason. Drake was just a bad copy.

Jason leaned down so that his mouth was right next to Tim’s ear and whispered, “I can do anything I want to you, and Bruce will _never_ be in time to save you.”

Bruce wouldn’t even do his Robins the decency of avenging them. Jason could kill his replacement just as horribly as he’d been killed, and Bruce would do nothing. He wouldn’t even be able to _find_ Jason to stop. Bruce would have no reason to believe that Red Hood had been the one to take his Robin. Jason could draw the torture out for months, _years_ even. All he had to do was break Drake’s bones and let them heal wrong—or just cut them off entirely—and Drake would never be able to escape.

When Jason leaned back, he saw the wetness starting to gather in the corners of Drake’s eyes, and he suddenly _needed_ to see those tears.

“Open your eyes, Timmy,” Jason cooed.

Drake flopped his head to the side, as much of a shaken head as he was could probably manage.

Jason growled. “I said _open your eyes_.”

Drake squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.

“D—don’t—” Drake pleaded in an almost nonexistent whisper.

Drake’s breathing picked up, harsh and rapid. “D—don’t—”

Jason smiled and tilted Drake’s chin so he could get the perfect view. “Don’t what?”

Drake shuddered and reluctantly opened his heavy eyes, “Don’t rape me.”

Watery blue eyes stared up at him, desperate, pleading, and terrified.

 _I said that too_.

Jason felt like he’d been smacked. Of course he wasn’t going to _rape_ the Replacement, just…

Jason stumbled back, off the bed, nearly tripping over the dying man he’d just shot for daring to attack a kid. But Jason was better because Jason wasn’t planning to _rape_ the kid…just torture and kill him.

That had happened to Jason too.

The green tint in his vision dripped down into his stomach, and he barely managed to choke down a swell of bile. Oh, _god_ , what was he doing?

He needed to leave.

There was nothing he could say to calm the kid down, not now, not after everything he’d said. The kid _shouldn’t_ trust him.

“I won’t—” Jason’s chest felt tight like a coffin, and he couldn’t choke out the rest of the words.

He needed to get out. He had to leave, but he couldn’t just leave Tim on the bed like that. He needed to—

He pulled out his phone and typed in _9-1-1_ , hitting call before the phone could shake out of his trembling hands.

“911, what is the address of your emergency?”

“290 Old…” Jason blinked, trying to remember through his panic. “Old Creek Road.”

“Alright, sir. What’s happened?”

Jason took a deep breath. Lauder groaned.

“There’s been a murder,” Jason managed a bit more levelly.

The dispatcher’s frown was audible. “Who’s been murdered?”

Jason drew his gun, flicked the safety off one-handed, and shot Lauder in the head.

Lauder slumped to the ground, motionless.

“Edward Lauder.”

The low bass of the party on the other side of the house beat on unawares. Jason reset the safety and holstered his gun, then hung up, opened the back of the phone, and pulled out the SIM card. He bit it until it snapped and stuck both halves and the phone in his pocket.

There. Jason marched over to the door and seized the doorknob like it was the Joker’s throat. The rapist and drug trafficker was dead, the child was saved—twice—and all the evidence on the drug ring was in his pocket.

Jason was _leaving_.

Jason was leaving a drugged little kid sprawled out on a bed with the police on their way.

And Jason knew a thing or two about the Gotham police. 

It wasn’t that every police officer was willing to touch kids, for money or by force, but too many of them were, and he had no idea which cops were coming, or even which ones were still good anymore. Even if the cops who came to the scene were _good_ , a roofied kid at the scene of a murder was going to be taken either to the hospital or to the police station, where he’d be left alone for hours at a time.

Jason was leaving, but he couldn’t leave Tim alone.

Jason swallowed hard and released the doorknob.

“I’m not going to hurt you, kid,” Jason said quietly, but loud enough that he knew Tim would hear if he were still awake. “But if I leave you here, the police are going to get you.”

There was a broken inhale from the bed; a noise of terror or pleading, Jason didn’t know.

“The police aren’t your friend, kid. If they get you like this, someone is going to hurt you.”

It was hypocritical to save the kid; it was _dangerous_ for him to take the kid with him, but he didn’t have a choice.

Jason turned and walked over to the bed, bracing one knee against the bed.

Tim’s eyes were wild and wide for as long as he could fight to keep them open, tears streaming down his temples and into his hair.

On impulse, Jason reached down and brushed the tears away. “I’m sorry, kid. I’m not going to hurt you. Come here.”

Tim’s shoulders tensed like he was trying to pull his arms up to stop Jason, but all the efforts did was make it easier for Jason to slide on arm under Tim’s back and put the other under his knees. He lifted Tim up against his chest and turned the kid’s soggy face against his neck.

Tim whimpered quietly, but he sagged completely against Jason. Hopefully, he’d pass out in a minute or two and would forget that any of this had ever happened by the time he woke up. Tim wouldn't remember what Jason had said, or that Red Hood knew who Robin was, or anything else that would threaten his plans for revenge.

But until then, what was Jason going to _do_ with him?

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! I was asking you about your own birthday present!


End file.
